


Picking up the pieces

by anammox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x03, Coda, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s12e03 The Foundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8421976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anammox/pseuds/anammox
Summary: Castiel had already been on the road for several hours when his phone lit up with a message from Sam. Dean needs you, was all it said.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, the ending of 12x03 totally killed me. I guess this is me trying to fix it.

Castiel had already been on the road for several hours when his phone lit up with a message from Sam.

 _Dean needs you_ , was all it said. He frowned at the screen for a moment before typing out a quick reply. Whatever had happened, it had to be bad for Sam not to offer any kind of explanation. The angel thought back to his last conversation with Mary, a creeping suspicion worming its way to the front of his mind.

She wouldn’t, would she?

Dread settled over him like a blanket as he realized that she probably would. Mary was overwhelmed, and she was far too much like her sons for her own good. It stood to reason that she would withdraw and try to work through everything on her on.

Their mother didn’t know Sam and Dean, didn’t know what her leaving would do to them. Would do to Dean, in particular. Castiel however, had a fairliy good idea, and it wasn’t anything good. With worry gripping his heart in icy fingers, Cas increased the pressure of his foot on the accelerator, sending a silent prayer to his father that no law enforcement would interfere with his journey.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, when Castiel finally made his way silently down the stairs of the bunker, he found Sam hunched over a table in the library. A half-empty bottle of whiskey stood on the table next to him, the cap still unscrewed and a tumbler gripped loosely in his right hand. The angel shook his shoulder gently.

“Sam,” he said softly as the other man stirred. The younger Winchester lifted his head with a low groan before turning to his friend. “Cas, thank god you’re here, man.” Sam rolled his shoulders and stood up, meeting Cas’ gaze. “Mom left,” he said quietly, weary eyes shiny. Castiel nodded.

“I’m sorry, Sam. She’s just overwhelmed, she’ll be back.” The taller man offered a half-smile, but it didn’t come out quite right. “I know that, and I don’t really blame her either, but…” Sam trailed off with a meaningful look down the hall.

“How bad?” Castiel asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. Sam sighed heavily. “He wouldn’t let her touch him. Refused to look at her, and…” he trailed off, voice thick with emotion. The angel waited patiently while Sam took another deep breath. “She took Dad’s journal with her.” Cas drew in a sharp breath. That book was the only connection the Winchesters had to their father besides the Impala. Mary walking out with it would be a double blow, like both their parents abandoning them.

It took a moment for Castiel to do anything other than stand there, dumbly staring at Sam’s broken expression. Then he gripped the other man’s shoulder firmly, trying to convey that he was here for both of them, not just Dean. “You should try and get some sleep that doesn’t involve using a table as a pillow,” he said finally. “Don’t worry about Dean, I’ll take care of him.” Sam met his eyes for a long moment, then nodded and headed towards his bedroom.

 

* * *

 

After tidying up the evidence of Sam’s night, Castiel braced himself and walked determinedly towards the eldest Winchester’s room. He decided against knocking, hoping against hope that Dean might have somehow fallen asleep in the last couple of hours. Of course that wasn’t the sight that met him when he eased the door open and slipped inside.

Dean was sat on the floor, propped up against the foot of his bed. One bottle of whiskey lay empty at his side, another gripped tightly in his right hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, but his face was entirely blank. He made no move to acknowledge Castiel’s presence, still staring into the middle distance. The angel sighed and surveyed the room. Nothing seemed to be out of place, so that meant no angry bursts of violence had occurred. That was good. Numb Dean was a lot easier to reach than angry Dean.

Castiel carefully lowered himself to the floor next to Dean, close enough that their shoulders touched. The hunter remained motionless, but his eyes fell to the bottle in his hand. Mechanically, he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long pull, before he lowered it again and tilted his head back against the bed.

“Trail on Lucifer go cold?” he finally croaked. His voice was rougher than Castiel had heard it in a long time. “Yes,” the angel answered, moving to take the bottle from Dean’s hand. Relief flooded through him when he let him, and Castiel gulped a fair amount of the amber liquid down, grimacing at the taste.

They sat in silence for a while. Castiel contemplated telling Dean more about his and Crowley’s search, and Rowena sending Lucifer to the bottom of the ocean, but decided against it. A distraction worked in the short run, would perhaps even pull an unwilling smile out of the hunter. And yet, Castiel knew that Dean needed to deal with this in his own time.

Years ago, Dean would have drunk himself into a stupor and thoroughly repressed everything until it all came bubbling up in a bout of violence. He was still drinking, but he knew his limits, and he’d paced himself. The words coming out of his mouth had been clear, however much his voice betrayed the emotion he was running away from. As ironic as it all seemed, Dean was handling this a lot better than he could have.

Tentatively, Castiel set the bottle aside and reached for the hunter’s hand. Dean gave it to him willingly, like he was using it to ground himself. Neither of them had ever been much for words, and Castiel knew that touch would always be the best way to reach Dean when his walls were up.

As the angel rubbed soothing circles to the back of his hand, Dean’s tension slowly drained away, leaving only weariness in its wake. He shifted closer and leaned more heavily on his friend. “Did you talk to Sam?” He murmured eventually.

“I did. He was worried about you,” Castiel answered softly. Surprisingly, Dean snorted. “Man, this whole thing is such a mess. Here I am, too wrapped in my own abandonment issues to even try to say a single word of comfort to my little brother, like Mom didn’t just walk out on him too.” He scrubbed his free hand over his face. “And he’s out there, worried about me.” Dean’s voice was layered with guilt, as if he’d been bathing in it. He probably had. The eldest Winchester had an uncanny ability to make everything feel like it was his fault.

“This isn’t you fault, Dean.” The angel’s voice was stern and patient, like he was trying to convey a very important message to a child. “Mary has her own issues to work out, and in true Winchester-form, she’s decided she needs to do it alone. Sound like anyone you know?” Castiel tried turning his head to catch Dean’s eye, but the other man was staring resolutely at their entwined fingers. Dean nodded minutely. “I guess…” he whispered. “Still hurts like a bitch, though.”

Silence descended with that statement, and Castiel gave the hand in his a reassuring squeeze.

Keeping awake seemed to become harder and harder for Dean as they sat there, Castiel’s thumb still working at his hand. “You should sleep,” the angel muttered into short blond hair, and Dean drew a deep breath as he sat up, finally meeting his eyes for the first time since he entered the room.

“Will you stay?” he asked uncertainly. Castiel returned his gaze steadily for a few moments before nodding.

A minute later, Dean had slipped into a pair of pajama pants and an old, worn t-shirt. Castiel had removed his shoes and both his jackets before leaning back against the headboard, legs under the covers. The hunter curled up on his side next to him, only inches separating them. When long fingers started brushing methodically through his hair, Dean went out like a light.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel promised him. 


End file.
